


A Midnight Message

by ShortInsomniac98



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1800s, 19th Century, Based on a Tumblr Post, Comedy, Drabble, Funny, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Silly, good omens - Freeform, ineffable comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortInsomniac98/pseuds/ShortInsomniac98
Summary: Early 19th century Crowley sends an urgent message to Aziraphale.





	A Midnight Message

It was well past midnight and Anthony J. Crowley sat at his writing desk, his pallid face illuminated by the flickering candlelight.  He ran a tired hand through his hair as he scrawled something onto a piece of paper in front of him, taking great care to make sure his handwriting was impeccable.  Once he had finished, he sprinkled some pounce over the drying letters, then dumped it into the pot on his desk before folding the letter, and sealing it in wax.

“Andrew!” he shouted, and a moment later: “Boy!  Come here!”

“Master Crowley,” a weary voice said from the doorway, “what are you doing awake at this hour?”

“Important message for Mr. Fell in town,” said Crowley.

“At this hour?” the young man in the doorway said again.

“Yes,” Crowley responded.  “It’s urgent.  Regarding our meeting earlier today.”

“It can’t wait until morning?”

“I insist,” said Crowley, standing over the boy, his expression darkening and his eyes seeming to glow (in fact, they were glowing, young Andrew was certain) behind his dark-lensed glasses.  “It must be given to him as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said.

“You may take my horse,” said Crowley.  “She’s fastest.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, and he left.

He rode for over an hour into town, to the address Mr. Crowley had given him.  It was a bookshop, he realized as he drew closer, and there was a light on inside.  Andrew was glad, then, that he would not be waking Mr. Fell.  Recipients of messages were not often happy if said messages arrived so late at night.

He tapped the brass doorknocker twice against the wood.  There were noises within the shop, and a moment later, a kind looking man with white hair—much whiter, the boy thought, than someone his age ought to have, but maybe he was older than he looked—opened the door.

“Yes, young man?” he asked, his voice quite kind as well.

“I, uh, I got a message from Mr. Crowley, sir,” Andrew said, holding the letter out to the man.

“Ah, yes, thank you,” said the man, patting his pockets, searching for something.  He pulled a coin out of one of them and gave it to the boy, then he took the letter.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied gratefully, tucking the coin into his own pocket.

Aziraphale struggled to break the seal for several minutes.  “My, it really is sealed rather well, isn’t it?” he chuckled nervously, mentally cursing Crowley for whatever curse he must have put on the seal.  Finally, it broke.  “Ah, good.”

He unfolded it then, and held it up to the light.  His face fell as he read the message.  Then he inhaled deeply, lowering the letter.  His eyes closed and he let out the breath slowly.

“What is it, sir?” the boy asked.

With a shaking hand, Aziraphale held the letter out to the boy, who took it and stared at it blankly for a moment, uncomprehending, before extending it back to his master’s friend.

“What does it say, sir?” he asked.  “I can’t read it.”

“It says,” Aziraphale said slowly and with a certain amount of distaste, “‘ _Bitch_.’”


End file.
